


your bubblegum bitch

by sure sure (getoffmysheets)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billie's super into it, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, F/F, Female Billy Hargrove, Female Steve Harrington, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Stevie is a hot competent badass, Stevie might also have some unresolved rage issues, but Billie's super into that too tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/sure%20sure
Summary: “Dude…what is your problem?”“Maybe your prissy ass is my problem, Stevie.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

Her name is Stephanie Harrington and she’s the queen bee. Everybody calls her Stevie, like the singer, the queen of rock and roll. She’s got hair down to her pertly rounded ass and her eyelashes are a mile long.

She never notices Billie, but Billie notices her - half asleep in Spanish, red hearts all over her tights, like her legs are a Valentine card, dark waves of hair caressing her white shoulders and narrow back.

She doesn’t know why she does this to herself, why she becomes obsessed with pretty straight girls who don’t care that she exists. Billie already knows everything about this girl, she knows her type.

Stevie is a daddy’s girl, pampered and spoiled – adored as long as she never tries to be anything more than the homecoming queen. She’s got a luxury class car that she didn’t pay for. She’s never had a job, and she’s never done chores. She gets manicures at the mall and has her hair done at least once a month. Billie bets that she wears Baby Soft perfume and listens to Madonna. She bets a boy has never made her come. Billie bets there’s one of those little red hearts resting right over Princess Stevie’s panties, and she wants to press her mouth there.

She won’t though.

Billie knows her type, so she already knows how this story ends. Stevie’s gonna get married and knocked up (or maybe knocked up and then married), right outta high school, probably to Nathan Wheeler, or someone just like him. Someone with enough brains and ambition to provide the kind of life she’s accustomed to living. She’ll fake her orgasms and give him two or three kids and never figure out she coulda had something better. Maybe it will never occur to her that there **_is_** something better.

Billie’s first expectations of Stevie are ruined when Nathan Wheeler breaks up with her on Halloween.

Personally, she doesn’t really see what the guy sees in Johanna Byers – a quiet mousy girl with rounded shoulders that she keeps covered up in dark sweaters – but Billie can’t pretend that a spark of hope doesn’t blossom in her.

Her expectations are shattered again, when Stevie walks into school the next day, the people around her whisper, barely hiding their snickers. She is true royalty, head held high, not overflowing with confidence but refusing to back down amid the giggling and the staring and the not so subtle gossiping. For a girl used to getting what she wants when she wants it, she endures it all with an almost noble grace, even Tammy Hagan’s insincere sympathetic cooing.

Billie maybe gets carried away during volleyball practice. It’s all gone to her head – Stevie, newly single, is a walking public indecency charge in their practice uniform. While slender in the bust and waist, Princess Stevie can’t hide that small round ass in the blue shorts that are barely containing the greatness of her figure. Almost as delicious are her long pale legs, shaved smooth and dotted with beauty marks just like her neck and back, her soft thighs flexing and tensing as she moves and runs on the court, like a sleek wild creature of the forest.

It’s all got Billie’s blood feeling hot, makes her a little more daring and she pushes Stevie to the floor more than once.

It doesn’t help that she can see an intoxicating and beautiful spark of fury igniting in her eyes, dark and velvety, the eyes of a wild doe, blazing with golden amber when the light hits them just right - like a lioness.

Billie doesn’t care that Stevie probably thinks she’s an asshole. If it keeps the life and rage in those eyes, she’ll do as she pleases.

In the locker room, she makes some concessions to Stevie’s recent break-up, tries to be just a little nicer in light of the misery that makes that fire flicker today.

“Don’t worry, Harrington. Plenty of dicks out there in the world.” Not that Billie gives a single shit about any of them. But presumably Stevie does.

Stevie grunts, a sound vague enough to be agreement or annoyance as she rinses out her hair. The steamy air is filled with the scent of her own soap, brought from home. It’s a bottle with a blue label and smells sweet and tart and juicy – like something Billie can sink her teeth into.

She does her best not to stare too long or too obviously, but she doesn’t think she succeeds. Stevie’s eyes flicker up and squint at her, a narrow look of something like suspicion in her gaze. Water clings to her eyelashes and mole-speckled skin. She looks like a painting.

Her nipples are the color of her lips and Billie will imagine suckling them alone in her bed tonight, picture Stevie’s perky little tits that would fit perfectly in her hands. Her ass is even more gorgeous left bare, milky round flesh that begs to be given a touch of color, begs to let Billie spread her open and eat her up.

She wonders what Stevie sounds like when she comes, what sounds can be coaxed from her when it’s really, _really_ good. If she screams or groans or whimpers.

Billie knows her type out in the wide world, but that doesn’t really apply to the bedroom. She wants to know if Stevie would pull on her hair and howl like a she-wolf in the night or if she would tremble in place, shivering and whimpering through each wave of pleasure Billie gave her. She doesn’t really have a preference, the knowledge itself would be delicious enough.

She licks her lips, watching the way the droplets slide past Stevie’s rib cage. She’s really thirsty all of a sudden, but she’s only interested in drinking whatever has touched Stevie’s skin. The angles they are each standing at mean that she can’t really see the patch of dark hair covering her pussy and she doesn’t dare to move to get a more direct look, but Billie can practically feel the heat of her from here.

Dreamily, she imagines spreading little Stevie open, slipping her fingers inside. Billie wouldn’t do it until she was soaking wet, until Princess Stevie was pleading with Billie to eat her, fuck her. And she would, Billie would have herself a feast of wine and honey between those lily white thighs, until Stevie would have to plead again just to make her stop.

She brings Max to the arcade after school to be with his little nerd friends and wanders around, not really looking for anything, but in a fancy looking (and smelling) boutique, she spots that same bottle with the blue label Stevie had in the locker room showers and her curiosity overcomes her.

 _Blueberry Pie_ , it says, and holy fuck, it smells _just like her_. Sweet, tangy, gently earthy – and when Billie smells it, she can practically feel Princess Stevie’s silky thighs under her palms.

She knows right then that she’s not leaving without it, even though it’s about seven times more expensive than the bar of drugstore soap she has at home, but Hawkins doesn’t have any decent weed for her to spend her allowance on anyway. She walks out of the store with a tiny pink and blue bag, because she caved when the clerk told her that she could pair it with the matching lotion and save twenty-five percent.

Billie showers with _Blueberry Pie_ that night, slathers herself in the lotion and rubs herself to three separate climaxes, imaging that Stevie is on top of her. Long silky dark hair brushing against her skin. Her wild doe’s eyes, sparking with fire and mischief and seduction. The way the droplets of water stay caught in her lashes. The perfect white roundness of her ass, and the mysterious constellations of beauty marks covering her body. Her lips and nipples, the same sweet shade of strawberry-red. The baby pink lace of her bra, just a little too tight, so that her cleavage is pushed in and upward, like she’s offering herself to Billie every time she gets dressed.

She groans into her pillow and it’s good, but it doesn’t last. And like…that’s it.

That’s as far as it’s ever going to go. She hungers every time she sees her (and now every time she showers at home), but this is a one way street. Billie is obsessive, but she isn’t deluded. She can’t kid herself into thinking that there’s something more to this.

Until there’s another wrench thrown into her expectations the night Max goes missing.

She’s already furious – Neil spent the ten minutes he and Susan were actually home calling her names and she knows if she doesn’t get that brat back home on the double, he’ll find a way to make Billie pay for it…somehow. She doesn’t know _how_ yet. He’s cut her allowance twice since they moved and Neil knows if he cuts it any more, she won’t be able to pay for gas.

She’s fairly confident that he won’t – if she can’t drive, she can’t do all of the household errands. On top of that, Billie already does all of the cleaning, the yardwork, the cooking, the shopping, and the laundry, plus she has to watch Max and drive him around wherever he wants, but if there’s one thing Neil is good at, it’s finding new ways to be a complete bastard to her.

There’s a lot of things she was expecting when she pulled up to the Byer’s house, up to and including an orgy, but finding her snot-nosed stepbrother helping Stephanie Harrington drag a deformed dog around the backyard was definitely not one of them.

“Hurry!” Henderson hisses, anxiously twisting her fingers around her curls.

“It’s fucking heavy, Dillon!” Stevie swears, heaving around the ugliest looking dog Billie’s ever seen. She looks pissed off – she’s sweating despite the chilly November night weather, there’s a smear of mud or dirt at her face, and there’s no doubt in Billie’s mind she’s the prettiest girl she’s ever seen.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

\---

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Abruptly, Stephanie drops the demodog to the ground, her hackles immediately raised at the sound of that voice, before even consciously registering who it was: Billie Hargrove.

Billie Hargrove has been a pain in Stevie’s neck since the day she and her tight-ass jeans waltzed into Hawkins, it seems like. Her spine draws up straight, already prepared to square up with the bitch from California. It brings an amused gleam to Billie’s eye that makes Stevie want to scream.

The girl seems to be determined to make herself into Stephanie’s official enemy number one. Stevie tries to block her view of the demodog, saying “Not sure how that’s your business.”

Her cigarette glows to life as Billie inhales, painting the night in smoke as she points with the fiery ember. She gestures to Max. “It is when you got my stepbrother with you.”

Well, shit. The bitch did have a point there, didn’t she? “What the hell do you care?” she says belligerently, because she’s having what is basically the worst week of her life and part of her is longing for a fight – and she knows that Billie will give it to her, she’s been asking for that very thing for weeks now. “Don’t pretend that you give a shit.”

Billie’s pretty face twists, as it all too often does, into a formidable scowl.

“Guys,” Dillon pleaded in an aggravated lisp. “Stop fighting! We really, really need to go…to that thing…”

Stevie feels bad. Dillon is practically twitching with anxiety. Being outside right now was not a good idea – the girls’ dumbass plan to distract the Demodogs notwithstanding. She doesn’t like letting Max be dragged off, but legally, there was really nothing she-

“Who asked you, _Toothless_?” Billie sneered.

Now, nobody took Stevie seriously. Not her (former) friends, not her (former) boyfriend, not her teachers, not her parents. Even her self-proclaimed archnemesis didn’t take Stevie seriously.

Dillon Henderson didn’t really take her seriously, either. But Dillon also believes in Stevie in a way that no one ever has before. She apparently believes that Stevie can take on an army of netherworld monster with nothing but a baseball bat loaded with nails and a band of little girls.

If she hadn’t gone blind with rage, Stevie would’ve been able to savor the truly stunned look on Billie’s face as she charges her to the ground, ramming her down so hard that they both roll to the cold dirt and grass.

Though Billie tries to get up again, Stevie doesn’t let her. The girls – and Max – stare at her, wide-eyed with shock as she straddles Billie’s ribs and presses her face into the dirt, growling “Take it back.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off me!” Billie spat, squirming beneath her. She thrashed and kicked, but for some reason, Billie’s body felt like a pillow, and Stevie’s own body felt like marble just then.

She hisses furiously, yanking on a handful of the beautiful blond hair that Billie grew like California gold. “Take. It. _Back_.”

Billie yelps, “Fine, fine, you fucking psycho! Henderson is a fucking cherub! Now get off me, you bitch!”

The two girls scramble to stand and Billie eyes her wearily. “What d’ya know, princess?” she says speculatively. “The poodle has some bite to her after all.”

“Whatever,” Stevie mumbles, feeling numb.

She’s tired.

She’s so tired of being told that she needs to calm down, be quiet, sit still, smile more, shout less, “act like a lady, Stephanie Marie”. She’s tired of trying to be the person other people want her to be.

She’s been tired for a long time, and she thought she’d stopped when Tammy and Charlie didn’t want to hang out with her anymore. But now she’s realized that she went from being the person Tammy Hagan and Charlie Perkins wanted to hang out with, to being the person Nate Wheeler wanted to date.

It just so happened that the person Nate Wheeler wanted her to be made her feel so much better about herself. It felt like the person she actually _wanted_ to be. She was afraid, for a bit, that she’d go back to the way she was before.

In a way, she had something to be grateful to Billie for. Billie Hargrove has reminded her of why she doesn’t have the will to do that anymore.

Billie looks around them – at all the kids, armed with backpacks and flashlights, like tiny hikers on a ghost hunt, wearing masks and goggles. Stevie, with the nail bat at her side. And, oh yeah-

The Demodog.

Slowly, she says “What the hell is going on here, Harrington?”

She doesn’t even wait for whatever answer Stevie could give – poorly thought out though it may be. Billie snatches Max’s flashlight away from him, ignoring his rather lame attempt to grab it back and points it directly at the dead monster.

Luckily, the Byers live so far out into the woods that there are no neighbors to hear Billie’s scream of “ ** _What the fuck_**?!?!”

Yeah. That had been Stevie’s reaction, too.

“Guys,” Michelle begs, dark eyes wide and pleading. “Stephanie, we don’t have time for this – Eleven needs us to help him! We need to go set up the distraction!”

Stevie huffs. “ _We_ aren’t doing anything. Nate told me to keep you safe, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“But Eleven is…”

“Couldn’t you help us, Billie?” Max’s words, while relatively quiet compared to Michelle and Dillon’s loud insistent whining, are so ludicrously out the question that the rest of the group is literally stunned into silence.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Billie demands. She sounds annoyed but also – more incredibly – like she’s actually willing to listen to him.

“Um, well there are more of these things under the town,” Max admits. “They’re coming through this, like, doorway…?”

“Gate,” Dillon corrects primly, bouncing on her heels. “There’s a gate underneath the department of energy building and we have a friend who’s headed down there now – he’s going to close it. We’re going to the opposite side of town to create a distraction in the tunnels, to buy him some more time.”

“There’s going to be more of these things?” Billie asks, eyeing the dead Demodog.

“It’s out of the question,” Stevie says sharply. “I promised to keep you safe, and that doesn’t sound safe to me.”

“Eleven’s tired,” Michelle pouts, lowering hanging out sadly, dark eyes huge in her pale face. “What if there’s too many of them for him and Hopper to get to the Gate? They could destroy the whole town!”

Billie, even more unnerving, looks calculating and a bit amused. “So you basically want to create some chaos and then run away?”

“Uh-huh!”

She shrugs, glancing at Stephanie for some reason. “Alright, I’m in.”

Stevie feels her mouth drop open, an indignant and unflattering squawk emerging. “Are you crazy? They’re kids, they could be killed!”

Billie smirks. “I said I was in, I didn’t say that they were coming with.”

“Yes, we are!” Lucy says boldly, scowling at the older girls. “We’re helping, too!”

“Nope,” Billie says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Me an’ the princess will go alone, or we don’t go at all. Shitbird can drive, but none of you have access to a car. Them’s the breaks, pipsqueak.”

And this was how Stephanie Harrington found herself running through the darkness in a Mad Max-esque outfit, following Billie Hargrove through a hole in the ground. She’s sure that she smells like smoke and decay, her pulse thumps through her ears, and they are running for their lives.

“Why the hell did you agree to do this?!?!” she screams, feet pounding the far-too-squishy earth as they desperately such from the dangling rope that will take them back to the surface.

She sees Billie flash her a grin from over her shoulder. “What else is there to do on a Friday night in this town?”

“I dunno… _live_?” Stevie snarls, unable to hold in her snark.

There is a single moment where Stevie hears the telltale sound just behind her and she reacts to the low, seething shriek without looking behind her, swinging the bat with a full motion that rotates through her whole body. The Demodog wails in agony as Stevie beats the crap out of it, only stopping when the thing is no longer moving, and realizes that Billie is standing there, flashlight in hand. Staring at her.

Annoyed, embarrassed, breathing hard, Stevie demands “What are you looking at?”

She can see the way Billie’s eyes roll above her bandana. “Just makin’ sure you didn’t chip a fucking nail in your murderous fucking rampage, princess.”

For the second time that night Stevie, chagrined, mutters “Whatever.”

One might think that after such a harrowing experience together, Billie and Stephanie had come to an understanding with each other. Built a certain camaraderie during their adventure.

One would be so, so wrong.

\---

Stevie’s entire body hits the floor for the third time in an hour, nearly rolls her eyes when she hears the coach’s whistle, once again several seconds too late.

“What’s the matter, princess?” Billie coos, batting her lashes with false sweetness. “Need some help staying awake?”

She huffs and doesn’t bother answering, barely looking at Billie as she pulls herself off the ground again. She-she might be shaking, she isn’t exactly. Stevie clenches and unclenches her fists. It isn’t fear that makes her tremble – apart from a few moments when Stevie was afraid that Billie might beat the crap out of one of the kids, she’s never been afraid of Billie for her own sake.

Hitting her would be _oh so satisfying_ , but Stevie doesn’t really know what real purpose it would serve. She’s so angry she could cry, but she refuses to give Billie the satisfaction of thinking that she’s like…hurt her feelings or something. No.

Without any place to put the shimmering rage making Stevie’s body marble and cold steel, she’s left staring at Billie blankly, utterly exhausted by this whole experience. Billie’s shirt is too tight. Stevie can see the outline of her nipples through the white cotton, and her sports bra isn’t working hard enough to hold their heavy weight. She smells comforting and familiar – not feminine, but _bizarrely_ of Irish Springs bar soap. Stevie tries hard not to stare at her chest as the two of them square up.

“Dude… _what_ is your problem?”

“Maybe your prissy ass is my problem, Stevie.” It really does say something terrible about where her head is at that even Billie’s terrifying scowl is beginning to look attractive to her. Not that it’s hard, Billie manages to look gorgeous no matter what she’s doing.

“Well then, _get over it_ , would you?” she snaps, retreating back to the locker rooms with her tail between her legs.

She can feel Billie’s eyes watching her the whole way back.

\---

Billie is at a total loss.

Is this girl like…bipolar or something? Or maybe she’s some different kinda werewolf, because in moonlight, Stevie is a blood-spattered Amazon warrior with a baseball bat in her hands. By the light of day, she can’t even manage to stand up to Tammy Hagan’s snide under the breath remarks.

It’s really pissing her off, actually.

Stevie is better than this – better than this girl, this team, this school, this town, this whole fuckin’ state. Billie don’t know why she tries to pretend that she _ain’t_. It’s like watching a tiger trying to pretend that she’s a zebra, watching a she-wolf pretend that she’s a chihuahua.

Against all odds and expectations, it’s now obvious that she is not the fluffy little princess that she seems to be desperately hoping the rest of them will see. Alright, Harrington. Challenge noted and accepted.

“You believe that?” Tammy scoffs, popping her gum loudly. “She’s been a **_total_** wet mop since she started dating Nate. He breaks up with her, and she’s still acting like a goody-two-shoes.”

“Yeah?” Billie asks, with the coolly raised brow that should warn Tammy – if she were smart enough – that something devastating is about to come out of her mouth. “Better keep an eye on your boy now that she’s single. Charlie looks like he’s thinking of trading up.”

Billie turns and flounces after Stevie to the locker room, leaving Tammy standing in the middle of the gym with her mouth hanging open.

She stalks away, hoping that Stevie will still be in the shower and more than a little annoyed with herself for wasting time with such a…what did those weird little nerds call it? A mouth-breather.

To her disappointment, not only is Stevie not in the showers, she’s already left the building entirely.

Billie grimaces, feeling her ribs protest the motion of bending to change out of her gym shoes.

Neil was…not pleased with her last night.

It might be for the best that no one is here to see the purple marks on her back and torso. It would bring up a lot of uncomfortable questions she doesn’t really feel like answering.

Mrs. Hershel – what is it with the people in this town and having ‘H’ surnames? – Mrs. Hershel, the English teacher, has already started making comments with Concerned Eyes after class about how tired Billie looks and where did you get that split lip, Billie? The old bat is nosey, but she means well, so Billie really makes an effort not to be too much of a monster, at least not in her class.

Stevie Harrington is the exact same way, Billie knows that now. She has the itching suspicion that even if Stephanie Harrington hates her with all the fury hidden beneath her lithe muscles and white skin, she would still care if she saw what was beneath Billie’s gym uniform.

Billie is so pathetic that even the idea of that scrap of concern leaves her warm, deep down. Bruises and all.

She grimaces again, this time at herself.

If it were up to her, she’d be leaving this town tonight, no questions – take her uncle’s Camaro and ride out for California as fast as the old girl would take her.

But it really says something that even she isn’t enough of a bitch to leave Max (and Susan – though she won’t admit that even under pain of torture), even she can’t bring herself to let him find for himself living with Neil.

She _could_ get a job, but painful past experience has already taught her that Neil will just siphon off as much of her wages as he pleases, and the bank won’t say a word since a minor can’t open their own bank account without a co-owner.

There’s no doubt about it – Billie is trapped with no way out in sight, at least until graduation finally comes.

Y’know…assuming the town isn’t overrun by aliens next month or whatever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings out chapter* please take this, I need it out of my life right now

Stevie is awake. She’s been awake for nearly half an hour, just here…staring blankly at a wall and trying to think of something relaxing.

She should get up, go pee, brush her teeth, get dressed. But instead, she lays there and tries not to move. Between her legs, her whole body throbs with heat and need, a liquid desire soaking her underwear that she tries to ignore so that eventually, she can get off the bed. The idea of shifting, of rubbing the wet cotton against her clit, makes her labia tingle with the anticipation of a touch Stevie doesn’t intend to provide for herself.

This is not the first time that Stevie has dreamed about a woman sexually, but this is the first time that it _disturbed_ her – though in the past, she told herself that the dreams were because who wouldn’t want to see two hot girls making out?

But she can’t pretend this is about some outside viewer, that this is a show put on for someone else’s pleasure, because the scenario had been so specific and dream-Stevie-in-the-moment had found it so viscerally satisfying that it could only be for her own personal enjoyment.

The details of the images were vague in waking hours, but the impressions it left on her were not.

Stevie had been fucking Billie Hargrove.

Not ‘watching-softcore-porn-of-lesbians-with-your-boyfriend’ fucking, either. It hadn’t been two girls giggling and barely lapping at each other’s pussies. No, it was suddenly having a dick – not a man’s dick, just _her_ dick. Suddenly having Billie, tied down and helpless, beneath her as Stevie fucked her with all of the restrained viciousness she was trying so hard to control in her daily life.

Watching Billie cry beneath her, though the only thing that came from her obscenely red mouth was ‘please’ and ‘more’. Her golden pussy – shaved bare, just like it was in the showers at school – clutching at her pretend cock, drooling wet as Stevie violently pounded into her-

Stevie takes a deep but very shaky breath inward, even as her cunt demands that she finish what her dreaming mind had already begun, begging for the touch of fingers, her mind’s eye getting snagged on the image of Billie, hairless and so wet that she drips, squirming and begging beneath her.

She’s never gotten this excited from just a dream before.

She only gets out of bed when she’s certain that she can move without immediately trying to get herself off. If she puts her hand down her underwear, the only thing she’ll be able to picture is Billie.

She skips volleyball practice after school.

Stevie knows that she’s being a coward, but she’s also never felt this way and she doesn’t like it. It would’ve been one thing if it was just the sex thing, she would’ve been able to wave that off in a heartbeat – but it’s more than that. It was impossible to separate the sex with how passionately violent she’d done it, and how much she’d enjoyed that and it definitely scared her.

Instead, she’s hanging out in the one of the back tables in the corner of the library, far away from the girls volleyball going on in the gym, and desperately (unsuccessfully) trying to make herself concentrate on rewriting her English essay.

Stevie’s distracted, muddled in her own thoughts, mostly staring off into space with a pen in her hand, when a voice behind her says, “ _Seriously_ , Harrington?”

Stevie is so startled that she A) screams her head off, B) flies straight out of her seat, C) trips over her own feet, D) scatters her papers all over the floor around her, and E) narrowly stops herself from smashing her face into the table by full-on laying across the wooden surface.

She turns her head and glares as behind her, Billie howls with laughter, practically bent in half as she cackles at Stevie’s klutziness. “I’m glad almost breaking my nose is funny to you!”

“You should have seen your face!” Billie says, eyes crinkling upward with her infectious grin. Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, she catches her breath and drawls, “Nice panties there, princess.”

Jerking upright, Stevie shoves the back of her skirt down her legs, jaw tight. Billie is still smirking at her when their gazes meet. “Got a bra to match that red lace?”

She can’t tell if Billie is flirting with her, making fun of her, or both. The words emerge from her mouth before she can swallow them back the way that she should. Quickly she whirls around to face her, thighs pinched as the rough edge of the table cuts into her legs. “At least I _wear_ a bra!”

“Aw, I’m flattered that you even notice, Stevie,” she purrs, fluttering her eyelashes at her in a mocking manner. So definitely still making fun of her, then. Fantastic. Billie’s gaze drifts downward, eyelids flickering strangely for a moment before she sing-songs “I see London, I see France, I can _still_ see Stevie’s red underpants…”

Stevie looks down and swears under her breath, clamping her thighs together and yanking her skirt back over her legs again. She’d overcorrected while sitting up and then the material had ridden up her thighs when she spread her knees apart. (Why she spread her knees open when talking to Billie Hargrove was maybe not something to examine too closely.)

She slides down hard into a proper seat. When she looks up at Billie again, the blonde is staring at her with a strange predatory focus. Huskily, she says, “Seems like you’re keen on giving me a free show there, Stevie.”

Stevie rolls her eyes, swallowing against the impulsive urge to ask for a trade. “I’m sure you’ve seen it all before, Billie. It’s a vagina, not life on Mars. You and I both already know what it looks like.”

 _Since you fucking shave yours bare_ , she does not add (out loud).

Billie, still giving her that strange stare, hums to herself. “So. Are you seriously hiding from me here like a loser?”

Stevie scoffs, tossing her head, her mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t feel like spending an hour getting the shit kicked out of me for no reason, thanks. Besides, I have to redo this entire essay or I’m gonna fail English and the coach won’t let me stay on the team anyway.”

With an uncharacteristic delicacy, Billie bends over, necklace swinging forward between the sun-kissed swells of her breasts – god help her, Stevie can’t look away – and plucks some of the papers from beneath her feet. Her brows raise and Stevie feels her cheeks bloom with color, ashamed to have her see her poorly done work.

Her mouth drops open in surprise when Billie, brows drawn together, lifts her eyes from the paper and says “Harrington, are you like…dyslexic?”

“Uh…what?” Stevie blinks at her, dumbfounded.

“Dyslexic?” Billie repeats, very slowly and clearly, like she’s a dumb little kid. “Cause your handwriting is a fucking mess – your spelling is all over the place and there are words mixed up all over the place on this page. No wonder you got a ‘D’. Didn’t your parents take you to get tested?”

“What?” Stevie gapes at her.

“For dyslexia,” Billie says insistently, then frowns and glances down, squinting at Stevie’s handwriting. “Or bad eyesight, because one of those is definitely happening on this page.”

“Fuck off!” Stevie snaps, snatching the paper out of her hands – or she would, if Billie would let the damn thing go.

“Do you want me to write it for you?” she asks seriously, refusing to hand over the original and dancing out of the way each time Stevie lunges toward her. “You’ll have to think up the words, obviously, but I have nicer handwriting than this.”

“Why?” she demands, pausing in her efforts. Billie has eliminated the slight difference in their height in her favor – standing up while she is sitting down, Stevie now must look up slightly instead of looking down.

Billie shrugs, putting on an air of boredom the way she puts on that leather jacket. “There’s fuck all to do in this town, and you’re the second best player on the team after me,” she says, with her usual complete lack of modesty. “If you get booted off the team, there’s no way Tammy, Lisa, and Andrea have what it takes to get us all the way to the state matches.”

Stevie sighs. At least she can count on Billie looking out for her own interests. “Fine. But don’t think I’m not looking at this before I hand it in – you’re not just gonna draw dicks all over it, alright?”

She wrinkles her nose. It’s…so cute, it’s dreadful. “What am I, a drunk frat boy? Sit your ass down, Harrington.” She winks at her. “I’ll be your sexy secretary.”

Oh dear.

With an almost comically prim manner, Billie picks up Stevie’s discarded pen and her papers, the pen poised in her blood-red fingernails. Stevie fidgets, agitated with having her so nearby. Unbidden, the image of her tits, spilling out of Billie’s leather jacket, the gold of her necklace teasing the eye in their direction, swims into her vision. Deep in her body, her pussy gives a violent, urgent throb. Stevie clamps her legs together before bolting out of her seat.

She paces restlessly as she dictates the report line by line, unable to bring herself to look at Billie anymore or stay seated on a hard surface – since her sex drive now has a mind all its own. She hears a near-continuous scratching of the pen on paper as Billie dutifully copies down every word, only pausing to call out suggestions for improvements in the wording.

Stevie is startled to realize when the last of the original copy has been rewritten, that it took Billie less than an hour to copy something it probably would’ve taken Stevie the rest of the night to finish. _Maybe I am dyslexic_ , she thinks glumly, murmuring a thanks as Billie hands her the papers back. _Probably just regular old stupid, though._

Everybody thinks so. Even Nate – he’s just the only person nice enough not to say it out loud.

Billie, with all the delicacy of an extra-large bull smashing her way through an extra-small china store, breaks through Stevie’s self-pity party. “So, like, did Wheeler have a chocolate and wine flavored dick or what?”

Floored, Stevie chokes, “ _What_?!”

“Because I’m trying to figure out why the fuck you’re so broken up about this guy,” Billie continues on. “Even after he technically cheated on you – you’re the hottest chick in school, and he’s got you moping around like your grandma died and somebody shot your dog.”

 _You’re the hottest chick in school_. Stevie folded her arms across her chest to distract herself from her reflexive blush. Billie – _Billie Hargrove_ seriously thinks she’s the best looking girl in school?

Stevie gives her a sideways glance, watching Billie through the fringe of her lashes, mouth twisting with unhappiness. “I guess…we had some intense moments together, went through some pretty scary shit together. I suppose that I thought it meant more to him than it really did.” She has to swallow to the sick feeling sitting at the bottom of her stomach. “He said our relationship was bullshit. So. Guess that means he’s been hung up on Johanna this whole time.”

“Oh, that bastard,” Billie breathes, eyes going wide. “I hope you broke his nuts with that thing in your car.”

She shrugs. “No point. I felt like crap, but he was drunk at the time, and I knew as soon as Nate said it that he was finally telling the truth.” She shrugs again. She doesn’t even have to tamp down the anger or the bitterness. It’s been choked out by the rejection. She allows herself to bask in the tiny warmth of Billie’s anger on her behalf. “Mostly, I’m just pissed that he let me spend a year thinking that this was…y’know. A real thing. Honestly? Nate and Johanna can do whatever.”

Though she might feel really differently about that if Stevie weren’t currently trying to covertly stare at the denim skirt riding up Billie’s thighs. Thick, golden, muscular, and smooth. She belongs on the cover of a magazine somewhere, or as a war-goddess statue in some museum. Sitting beside her and watching her light a cigarette is almost a surreal experience.

Underneath the haze of tobacco, Billie still has that same familiar smell of Irish Springs and, very faintly, of Aqua Net. Her dark brows meet together. “So, you don’t want him back?”

“Definitely not,” Stevie says firmly. It’s only her weak sense of self-esteem that wants Nate back, but even that can’t be rescued. If he told her this very night that he wanted her back, she would know it was only out of pity and nothing more.

“I think…that you should come with me to this party that Mickey Ryder is throwing tomorrow,” she says finally, smoke streaming out of her nostrils in a way that Stevie normally thought looked like a person trying to play-act as a dragon but makes Billie look sexy and intense.

“Uh…why?” she asks hesitantly. _Come with me to this party_ , she said. Like it was a date. Was this a date? It couldn’t be a date. Geez, Stevie really, _really_ wants it to be a date. How did you even ask another girl out? It would probably be more awkward if they were both guys, but how is she supposed to make it clear that she’s got more things on her mind during a sleepover than painting each other’s toenails?

And what would she do if Billie tried to beat the shit out of her or told the whole school that Stephanie Harrington was a carpet-munching queer? What then?

“…need to get out more,” Billie says airily. “Socialize. Even if you’re not interested in getting Wheeler back, you still need to show him and the rest of these losers that you’re still the hottest bitch here.”

Stevie gives yet another shrug. “I really don’t care if they like me or not. Most of them are awful and I don’t really care if I talk to them anymore. Tammy and Charlie expected me to come crawling straight back to them with an apology on my lips, but they’re the worst of the lot.” She scowls. “As far as I’m concerned, if they don’t like me, then I’m doing everything right.”

To her surprise, Billie chuckles. “You really do get some sass to you now and then, don’t you?” Stevie laughs nervously, staring at her own chipped pink fingernails, and feels the weight of Billie’s stare pinning her to her seat. “What I wanna know is, where are you keeping that weapon of mass destruction when you aren’t using it, princess?”

\---

“Uh, I-I don’t-I don’t understand what you mean,” Stevie stammers out, hiding her hands beneath the table now.

Billie watches with a feeling of disbelieving eeriness as once again, Stevie turns into a young wounded deer in front of her, all innocence and meekness. Ducking her head so that her dark hair falls in front of her eyes and hiding her hands beneath the table, like she’s trying to make herself look soft and weak. It’s almost comic now that Billie has already seen the other part of her. She thinks of it almost like the Clark Kent version of Stephanie Harrington.

“I mean, you don’t normally beat the shit out of people with baseball bats,” Billie observes. She’s begun biting her lower lip and Billie tries not to look like she’s staring but she’s totally staring. “So what gives?”

“I don’t usually get angry,” Stevie says demurely, like a little liar.

She stares at her. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say,” she says, bemused. “Anyway, there’s supposed to be this great party before Christmas break starts happening in the basement of this local bar or whatever?” Billie shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, though her heart was thumping like a scared rabbit. “Have a few drinks and play some pool if you want. Fuck the rest of them.”

“Um…” Fuck, she’s still biting her lip. “Yeah, that’s at the Wild Ryde. Mickey Ryder and his little brother Dave host it every year. There’s going to be a wet t-shirt contest, so make sure you wear a bathing suit beneath your clothes, and maybe bring something warm to change into.”

At Billie’s look, she hastily adds, “If you’re a girl, it doesn’t matter whether you’re in the contest or not, you’re going to get wet.”

Billie can’t quite resist leering at her – though she can’t decide what she likes the idea of better. Stevie getting wet in the dirtiest way or Stevie in a wet t-shirt and no bra, having water dumped over her head. Cold water.

Billie moves to get up and strut her way back out of the library, when suddenly a hand grabs her elbow. Stevie looks as shocked about this as she is. “Thank you,” she mumbles, looking Billie in the eye and then quickly glancing away. “For helping me with the essay. That would’ve taken me all night.”

Impulsively, Billie reaches out and coils a finger around one of the long silky locks of a hair cascading down Stevie’s shoulder and gives a light tug at the end. “Any time, princess,” she says, voice husky as those wide dark eyes lock onto hers. She winks again. “I’ll be your sexy secretary.”

Maybe she’s imagining the blush on Stevie’s face, but there’s still an extra spring in her step as she leaves the library anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll find a way to give you a million dollars if you manage to guess what happens next.


End file.
